PS 

2744 



■~\ 



%. 




m 






Xigbt o' Xove. 



A RLAY IN ONE AOX 



1-UOlL.E RUTLAND. 







CiassX^^!H:t. 
Book^tJnsLS 



XiQbt 0' Xove. 



A RL-A.Y IN OISIE AOT 

BY 

1-UC2II.E IRUTL-AND. 



To My Mothee. 






Note: The old air of Light o^ Love, to which I have written the words 
sung by the Courier, was found in an ancient manuscript and preserved in a 
collection called Musick's Delight on the Cithern, A. D. 1666. Shakespeare 
refers to it in the Two Genilemen of Verona; and again, in Much Ado About 
Nothing, Margaret says : 

* ' Clap us into Light o* Love, that goes without a burden ; do you sing it 
and I'll dance if 

The main action of this play, beginning with the entrance of David 
YoEK, was taken from a short story, entitled ''Simon's Hour," by James 
Branch Cabell. 

LUCILE RUTLAND. 

Covington, Louisiana, 1906. 



Xigbt 0' Xove. 

A PLAV IN C3NS AOT 

BY 

LUOII-E: FlUTLAND. 



Place : The Island of Stornwuy, four miles off the coast of England. 
Period: During the reign of George III. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

Dorothy --Lady Fenton. 

Edward Grey Lord Stornway. 

David York , Vicar of Stornway. 

George Waring Brother to Dorothy. 

Mrs. Merton. , ^. ...Friend to Lord Stornway. 

Anna , Mrs. Merton 's Maid. 

Joyce ., < Retainer at Stornway Castle. 

Courier. 
Captain of the Proteus and Two (Sailors. 



Scene: The great Hall in Stornway Castle. A large, dark-paneled room — ' 
luminous, luxurious. Stairway at hack, from L. C. to short, upper 
gallery B. C, finished with carved balustrade. Door above opening 
upon gallery B. JJ. Under gallery B. C. richly colored hangings 
conceal a small platform^; upon it a crimson cushioTt is placed before 
a little altar bearing lighted candles, missals, rosary, crucifix and 
statue of the Virgin. Above the statue hangs portrait of a young 
woman. Wide, arched doorway L. C. opening upon a corridor*. 
Arched double windows L. U. through which the end of evening glows 
and fades to starlight — to be later overshadowed with storm-clouds. 
Door L. Fire-place with lighted fire B. Portrait of mmi in uniform 
above mantel. Sword hanging L. of portrait. Chair L. of fire; couch 
B. of fire with colored cushions— and silk coverings thrown lightly 



across the hack of it. Door E. TJ. Table L. C. with chairs on both 
sides of it. Bugs, of wild animal skins, and other tokens of the chase 
tastefully disposed about the Hall. 

Time ; An Autumn Evening. 

At rise of curtain Mrs. Merton is hcif reclining upon couch, B. 
of fire, idly turning leaves of a book. She is a youngish woman of 
easy habits, wearing lavish clothes and a bored look. Throws book 
aside, rises weariedly. 

Mrs. M. : {Going C. Bings bell on table) Really, I must take a little wine 
for my— soul's sake! This dull Island makes me feel moody — 
mouldy— mortal. I '11 be glad to get back to London. 
(Enter Anna, door B.TJ.) 

Anna : You rang for me, madam ? 

Mrs. M. : Yes, Anna. Have the butler send me some wine ; some of that 
Alicante he served at dinner last night. {Looks at her keenly) What 
is the matter ? Why have you been crying ? 

Anna: Because— 0, nothing, ma'am! But, beggin' your pardon, I'm 
wishin' we was back in London. 

Mrs. M. : Oh ! You, too ! Why ? 

Anna: Because— 0, nothin', ma'am! But beggin' your pardon— there 
isn't a woman on this Island fit to speak to— and the men all look like 
pirates— exceptin' his lordship, of course! 

Mrs. M. : And the vicar? {Anna hangs her head in embarrassed silence) 
Why don't you sanction the vicar's looks, Anna? 

Anna : Because— 0, nothin', ma'am ! But, begging your pardon, he smells 
of gin — and tried to kiss me when I passed him on the beach yes- 
terday— 

Mrs. M. : {Interrupting) What? {Turns away L.) That will do. Go- 
send the wine {exit Anna door B. TJ.) Well, well! it must be true; 
she's an honest girl. Doubtless, if I had to live on Stornway Island 
I'd get to smelling of gin, too. The wines are the most congenial 
spirits I've met since I came here, a week ago. But the vicar! They 
tell me he is David York. When I last saw him, te,n years ago, he was 
the saintly young curate of St. Aubyn's in London. And I (so young 
and foolish!) adored him for a month — two months — perhaps three; 
I've forgotten! But he disappeared suddenly. And now— vicar of 
Stornway— smelling of gin— iissing servant girls ! Ah, well! {Goes 
to window L. V.) Piety is a pretty garment, but easily torn ! And the 



tatters are apt to reveal either a Hypocrite or a Tragedy. (Looks 
dismally out of window.) 

{Enter George Waring L. C. in hunting suit. He is a youthful, 
undistinguished unit in the London smart set. His chief industry 
is getting into debt and his proudest achievement is getting out of it. 
Goes moodily toward fire.) 

George: Damn iStomway Island ! 

Mrs. M. : [Starts C. laughing) Bravo, George! I oouldn'lt have expressed 
it better myself. 

George: (Startled) Mrs. Merton! I beg your pardon! I wasn't aware of 
your presence. 

Mrs. M. : But you must have been aware of my state of mind to ex- 
press it so well. When Edward Grey asked me to come and play 
propriety during your sister's visit to Stornway Castle, I was too new 
to the role to realize what a bore it would be. 

George: Propriety seems irrelevant to this barbaric place. Gad! it's 
primeval ! I wonder how his lordship can live here after his visits 
to London ? 

Mrs. M. : 0, he was born here — and he likes it. It would make me revert 
to savagery. I was just getting ready to cry when you came in; 
whenever a woman wants to swear, she just cries, you know ! 

George : Then, I suppose when a man wants to cry, he just swears ! 

Mrs. M. : (Laughing) Yes — a woman's tears are often a wordless profanity ; 
and a man's oaths merely enunciated tears. But what was making 
you— cry, George? Debts again? 

George : Remotely— yes. There 's no escaping them ! The very momentum 
that pulls me out of one seems to push me into another. But I'm 
worried about Dorothy now. 

Mrs. M. Your sister doesn't seem to share your perplexities. 

George: 0, Dorothy has no thought for anything but her own pleasure. 
You know her husband's will leaves me half of her rich estate if she 
marries again. He has been dead five years now; and she has, to 
my knowledge, refused ten good offers of marriage. She hasn't got 
a bit of consideration. 

Mrs. M. : (Amused) For you, George— or the ten others? 

George: (Serious) Why for me, of course! Now here's Lord Stornway 
trying to get her; and I'll wager he fails— for all your help and mine. 
It 's deuced queer I 



Mrs. M. : Yes— considering, too, that she never loved her husband. 

George: 0, Dorothy never loved anything. She flits from one flame to 
another like a wayward moth;— a moth with asbestos wings that 
never get singed ! {Enter Joyce; places flagon of wine on table.) Ah 
am I in time for tea? {exit Joyce). 

Mrs. M. : {Busies herself ivith glasses) No— tea was served an hour ago. 
This is Alicante, Come ! let us drink to the ghost of Lord Stornway 's 
Spanish mother, from whose country this vintage comes. {Pours wine, 
sits L. of table). 

George: {Takes glass, sits B. of table) Thanks ! from all I've heard of the 
poor lady she needed something like this in which to drown her 
troubles. 

Mrs. M.: TouVe heard her story, then? 

George : Only that she lived a recluse here for ten years and died insane. 

Mrs. M. : Ah! {sips wine reflectively) iShe and her betrothed were cast 
ashore here from a storm- wrecked Spanish vessel. Edward Grey's 
father, the old Lord Stornway, became enamoured with her — had her 
lover rowed to the mainland one stormy night and— married her 
himself ! 

George: Then his lordship gets his medieval tastes from his Spanish 
mother; and evidently his father's blood does not constrain him to 
practice self-denial. 

Mrs. M. : {SmUes indulgently) No— Edward Grey isn't enrolled upon the 
calendar of Saints. And his subjects on this Island are today just 
what they were in the time of the old lord: part fisherman, part 
pirate and part devil. They worship Edward Grey as though he 
were a god— and fear nothing else. 

George : Gad ! he has a shepherd here in keeping with such a flock of blaci 
sheep. Have you seen the vicar of Stornway? 

Mrs. M. : {Nervously). No — I do not wish to— as he is! I— knev/ him 
years ago, before he took to drink and— the rest of it — and Lord 
Stornway took him out of the gutter, or some starved attic in London 
and brought him here. I've heard that he serves his lordship like a 
trained cur and worships him like his other vassals. 

George: Well— I've just been hunting with him ; rather, I did the hunting- 
he wouldn't even carry a gun; said he'd never killed any living 
thing, except a boy— 

Mrs. M. : {Interrupts, in horror) Oh ! A boy ! 



George: Yes— I was shocked, too— at first ; and asked how he'd killed him. 
He said: ''Drowned him in gin— and he haunts me yet o' moonlit 
nights when the rose-vine blooms at the vicarage ! ' ' Then he broke 
off to turn a wanton smile upon a fisherman's wife. When she passed 
he fell silent and grim. At last he gripped my arm and growled: 
"God help you, Waring, if you're ever haunted by the ghost of the 
boy you used to be— whom some fool woman has tricked you into 
murdering!" But I shook him off and pushed on ahead. I knew 
he was drinking and didn 't know what he was saying. 

Mrs. M. (Rising.) 0, yes— David York knew what he was saying. {Medi- 
tates; aside.) I am glad its the Tragedy and not the Hypocrite that 
walks in the tatters of his piety ! I wonder who she was? I wonder ! 
{Goes sloivly toward door B. tf.) 

George: (Rising) Mrs. Merton, where is Dorothy ? 

Mrs. M. : (Turning) She and Lord Stornway have been out all the after- 
noon, riding about the Island. 

George: Let us hope she'll see its beauties. 

M'RS. M. : (Smiling) And consent to permanently eclipse them with her 
own? 

(Enter Dorothy, door L. C. Wears riding suit of green velvet with 
plumed hat. Holds admiringly aloft a sheaf of gold and red Autumn 
leaves. She is a heautiful auburn-haired tvoman of twenty-seven — 
dainty, delectable — with an instinct to allure and an impulse fot 
pleasure that have not led her heart into paths of peace. She is closely 
followed by Lord Stornway — ulso in riding suii, of brown and gold. 
He is a man of thirty; handsome in a somber way; with the courage 
of his desires and with a habit of mastery that only expedience softens 
into courtesy.) 

Dorothy: (Upstage) O, George— Mrs. Merton— look at my Autumn 
leaves! (Goes R. C.) 

M!rs. M. : How beautiful! You've had a long ride. What did you see? 

Dorothy: (Puts leaves on table) Such a ride! We went straight across 
country through a legion of forest trees in gold and scarlet— royal 
Dryad armies encamped upon a Field oi the Cloth of Gold ! Then 
on to the farthest reach of the Island— Where grim cliffs are massed 
at the verge of the shining sea, like storm-clouds about the horizon 
of a Summer sky. We followed the coast line back to the village of 
Stornway ; then, on home by way of the vicarage and the ivy-covered 
church. 0, a most pessimistic church ! frankly deviating into disuse 
and decay. In the village we saw bonnie lassies mending nets on the 



8 

sands; and the returning crew of the Proteus, just in harbor, all 
showed an obliging tendency to walk right into their nets ! Such a lot 
of picturesque savages they were— (laicghs.) 

Stornway: (L. C) My friends, Lady Fenton! 

Dorothy: Yes — so you told me. But they do look like pirates. One of 
them— the one, my lord, with the guitar— 

Stornway: My courier. 

Dorothy : He was singing a sweet ballad — something about love. I sent 
his lordship to bid him come to the Castle and sing it for us. 

Storn : He will come. He often serves as minstrel for the Castle. 

Dorothy: (Taking up leaves) And now to dispose of my golden treas- 
ures! (Looks about hall tentatively) . 

Mrs. M : Suppose we use them in Harvest Hbme tableaux— 

George: (Interrupting) 0, don't, please! The last time I took part in 
tableaux I felt, for a week, like a graven image. 

Dorothy: The one Aaron made for the Israelites? 

George: (Duhiousiy) Er— yes— I suppose so. 

Dorothy: (Sweetly) It was a brazen calf, you know ! 

Mrs. M. : But really. Lady Fenton, let us have the tableaux. With those 
leaves and some ripened grain you can pose as Ceres. 

George: (Interrupts) Don't suggest a new series of poses to her, Mrs. 
Merton! She's affected enough now. 

Dorothy: (Solicitous) George, dear, if you must give your mind such 
violent exercise as making puns, don't do it at my expense. 

George: It's all I can do at your expense. (To Stornway.) My lord, she's 
refused me any further credit — 

Dorothy: That's to mi/ credit! 

George : So, being abandoned to my own wits— - 

Dorothy: (Laughing) Like the drowning man to his straw! 

George: I've sold everything I had except Waringeourt— and I'm trying 
to find a buyer for that. 



Stokn. : You haven't yet sold yourself, George. I know a girl in London 
who will take you at your own terms. 

George : (Pleased) Do you? But who wants that kind of a girl ! 

Storn : True ! We men are made of dust— but we always grasp at the stars. 

JV&s. M. : Oh, if you are going to talk sentiment (goes toward door B. TJ,), 
I'll go. Sentiment always goes to my head. {Exits). 

Storn: {Looking at Dorothy) I wish it would go to a heart I know and 
teach it to be kind. 

{Dorothy begins placing Autumn houghs above mantle B. with ab- 
sorbed interest.) 

George: Well, sentiment is like debt— or the devil; if it once gets a hold 
on you, you never feel like your own man again. 

Dorothy: {Smiling at him over her shoulder) George, dear — such reach 
of thought inspires me— 

George: {Pleased) 0, thank you! 

Dorothy : Inspires me to test your reach of arm. Come, adjust this sheaf 
of leaves over that portrait for me. 

George: {Injured) Interior decoration isn't in my line. {Goes to door 
Jj.) Besides I'm too tired for work. 

Storn : Then we cannot have a game after dinner, George ? 

George : {Brightening) A game ! Surely ! with Waringcourt for stakes— 
'faith! it's all I have left to lose! 

Storn. : I lost last night. Perhaps your luck will hold. 

George: {Bowing) You're a noble loser, my lord. May you meet all de- 
feat as bravely ! ( Exits) 

Storn: {Goes slowly to chair L. C.) All defeat— ah, if I could! {Sits, 
leaning his head upon his hand.) 

Dorothy: {Busy with leaves) Why not? {Points to portrait.) With such 
a precedent ? I've heard wondrous tales of your grandfather's valor. 

Storn : {Lifting his head proudly) Aye — he was a gallant gentleman and 
a soldier! I keep his sword there that I may always have in mind 
how bravely he used it in defense of his friends and defeat of his 
foes. 

Dorothy: Heaven defend your foes, my lord, if the mere word so stirs 
your wrath ! 



10 ' 

Storn: You are my greatest foe, Dorothy. 

Dor.: {Goes R. C, hows mockingly) You flatter me! Invest me with a 
power I have not claimed— 

Storn : {Eising— impatiently) 0, you claim nothing ! And yet— 

Dor.: {Goes close to him— wistfully) Ah, yes I do, Ned! I claim your 
tenderness— your loyalty. If you ever marry, how I will miss you — 
and hate your wife! {Sits forlornly B. of table. He leans over 
her.) You see, you've spoiled me. You've been so good to me, Ned! 
Sometimes I wish — 

Storn. : "What, dear 1 

Dor. : 0, a fantastic thing ! 'Tis said a certain Arab sage could loose the 
subtle spirit of a gem so that nothing but the ashes of it remained 
for others' use. {Lays her hand upon his arm, rests her head up(m 
it.) If you were only that Arab sage, Ned — and I, the gem— 

Storn : {Passionately) Then you 'd be mine — only mine! 

Dor.: {Dreamily) Suppose— another fantastic thing! That I were a 
flower in a desert— and you, the South wind — 

Storn : Then all your sweetness would be mine— only mine ! 

Dor. : Or, suppose— that I were the deep, untroubled sea— and you, the 
sky above me— 

Storn : Then you'd have no other light but my love— no image but mine 
in your heart! {Embraces her.) Oh, my darling— 

Dor.: {Shrinking away from him— lightly) There! You've scattered 
the fancies. I am only I— and you are you! 

Storn. : W^ll you always so use me, Dorothy? Your lips banish me— while 
your eyes beckon; your word denies me — while your voice draws my 
soul as a bird is lured to the fowler 's snare. Why are you so cruel ? 

Dor. : {Regards him languidly) I am not cruel. But you can never un- 
derstand! Women love— Love! and men— 

Storn. : {Bitterly) Merely love women ! 

Dor. : No,— they love victory. 

Storn : {Smiling) But who really wins the victory can only be proven 
after marriage. 

Dor.: {Wearily) 0, we are not talking about marriage; on the contrary, 
we are talking of love ! 



11 

Storn : {Leaning over her) 'Faith ! What a rare frame your month makes 
for the word! Its color and sweetness challenge all my love for— 
victory. {Kisses her.) 

Dor.: {Starting up) Living in the country always spoils a man's man- 
ners. Yours, suggest primeval forests. 

Storn : Yes, they are true to Nature. But, Dorothy, it rests with you to 
make me what you will. Incentives, I know, should come from the 
soul. But you are the whole sphere of my soul. 0, Dorothy— I love 
you! 

Dor.: {Turning away — languidly) Why, how charming of you! 

Storn : {Sternly) It is not a matter for jesting. I tell you I love you— 
love you! 

Dor.: {Reproachfully) Well, you need not boast of it, as though loving 
me were an uncommonly difficult achievement! 

Storn: Have a care, Dorothy! Your allurements have fed the flame of 
my love until it consumes me — stifles me. {Suddenly stops, takes 
her hand J draws her to the curtained alcove.) W^hy, look you! 
{^Draws hack curtain— points to portrait ahove altar.) That is my 
mother, Dorothy— 

Dor. : {Abashed) Yes, my lord— your mother; you told me of her today. 

Storn : This was her little altar. I keep these x^andles burning day and 
night— because she was the only woman I ever loved — ;except you. 
And I swear to you here, that I would rather be dead before this 
altar to-night than to have to forego you and 7/our love. {Turn^ to 
her passionately.) 0, Dorothy, I have ceased to be myself— I am 
only an incarnate desire for you! If you will not give yourself to 
me — {pauses — fierce and breathless.) 

Dor.: {Steps hack with smiling insolence) Then you'll take me, I sup- 
pose ; as y^our lordship 's father sequestered his lady love ! 

Storn.: {Startled) True— the will of a Grey is alwaj^s his highest law! 
{Turns away in deep reflection.) Dorothy ! 

Dor.: {Tenderly) Ned? 

Storn : {Goes to her slowly) Will you marry me? 

Dor. : Heavens ! how can you expect me to marry a man who frowns at me 
like that ! {Goes with exaggerated carelessness to door B. U.) Besides 
—we must dress for dinner. We will be late as it is. {Exits.) 
{ Guitar heard without playing the prelude to Light ' Love. ) 



12 

Storn. : {After a baffled instant steadies himself with an upward grasp 
upon the altar curtain) God! to master her! * * * There is 
only one way. By Heavens, I'll do it! Where Love leads he is a 
coward who fears to follow! 

{Enter slowly the Cotirier with guitar. A lad of tiuenty, fair and 
slender, wearing the bright, picturesque garb of a minstrel.) 

Courier : {Sings softly, with guitar accompaniment.) 



^=cfe 



i ^-l—^ 



r ■■^' X I J^ 



^ 



THE LIGHT O'LOVE LEAOETH OUR FAttCIES AS-TRKY, AS 



^Tl^' JUU:jiU-i 



f^-m 



%-¥- 



.^^ 



J-j-1 



OFT INTO DAf\Kn£SS AS ItiTO THE DAY. &00 SPEED YOV.GOOO SIRSJNTHE 

SSf ! — TTsj 



£ 



?S=3^ 



SUfi-SrtlNE A-BOVEi BUT'WARE HOW YOU FOLLOW THE SWEET U&HTO LOVE. 



{As he sings, comes slowly down L. C; pauses) 'Faith! I'll waste no 
more breath on the empty air. Though 'tis as profitable to sing that 
song to the empty air as to a lover ; for his sighs winnow his head of 
all sense till nothing but the mere man — that is, mere chaff — be left. 
I 've tried it on a sad dozen and they all cry, ' ' Get you gone ! ' ' {Sees 
Stornway, who has adn^anced to him—ibows low in confusion.) My 
lord! 

Storn: Remain here — I may need you. {Exits hurriedly door L.) 

Courier : {Loo'ks after him amuzed) 'Tis the first time any man ever bid 
me remain after hearing me sing that song ! Heigh-ho ! I will com- 
pose ballads chockful o' wisdom, whether the lovers like it or no! It 
takes skill to get wisdom into a lover, so I give it to him under cover 
of rhyme and rhythm — like a sugar-coated pill. But lord! lord! 
how they all flock around and praise me when I sing songs full of 
love and folly. {Walks about impatiently.) ''Remain here," for- 
sooth! How long? 'Faith! I've affairs of my own. A lady love 
waiting for me with enough liquid fire in her eyes to melt the very 
marrow in my bones! {Sits L. C. by table.) For, since I put all my 
wisdom into my ballads for others' use, there is nothing left me but 
to lead a life of folly myself. {Looks around with wry face.) ** Re- 
main here!" Aie ! {Sees flagon of wine— takes it.) Ah! here's 
inducement! {Takes along drink.) That's no tavern brew! 'Tis 
liquid poetry— every drop rhymes! I'll drink enough of it to go to 
my head— it has felt empty since it brought forth my last sonnet. 



13 

(Takes anotlier long drink.) Ah, that was a whole ballad! Let me see if I 
can translate it into words. {Looks about taUe for paper— takes up 
pen and writes.) 

Before twp bright and deathless fires 

Inclines this heart of mine — 
The altars of its fond desire : 

Woman and sparkling AYine. (Drinks.) 

They are begotten of earth and skies 

For man's deep bane or bliss; 
The spell that lies in a woman's eyes 

We find in a draught of this. (Drinks.) 

ii 

iSay not their influence is accursed ! 

No power is more divine — 
No nectar as sweet to slake man's thirst, 

I say, as Woman and Wine. (Drinks.) 

But in the envoi I must write 

A secret that men should know : 
The only way to forget them quite 

/ 

(Pauses, heginnmg to he overcome with the wine.) is * * * the only 
way to forget them quite is — Zounds! What the devil is the only 
way to forget 'em? (Leans head helplessly upon his arm. — arouses.) 
W^hat was I saying? 0, yesh, I know! Woman and Wine— blesh 
'em! ballad to 'em * * * got to the envoi * * * (Writes 
with effort.) 

But in the envoi I must write 

A secret — that all — men keep — 
The only way — to forget — them quite 

Is— just— to go — to sleep ! 

(Falls asleep with head pillowed upon his arm. The sunset glow 
fades to twilight; twilight deepens to darkness and the stars are seen 
through window L. U. Enter Joyce, door L.; replenishes fire- 
lights up hall. Knocking heard without.) 

Joyce : (Going to door L. C.) Well, well— who's storming the castle now ? 
(Opens door.) Who's without? 0, 'tis the Captain of the Proteus I 
(Enter Captain of the Proieus— middle-aged, hard and grizzled.) 

A Voice : (Without) And two sailors, empty as your head, Master Joyce ! 
(Enter two sailors; youngish, shaggy, picturesque looking men. All 
three men wear harharic touches of color and knives sheathed in their 
belts,) 



14 ^ 

Captain: {Going down L. C.—to Joyce) If his lordship has finished din- 
ner, tell him we got his orders and are here. 

First Sailor: {Goes B. C, bends forward with wry face and hands on 
stomach) Oh, aie! We're here,— but our dinner isn't. We had to 
hurrj oil and leave it untasted ; and I 'm so empty I can 't tell 
whether I have the stomach-ache or the back-ache. 

Joyce: Yes, Captain, he has dined. He's -v^Titing in the library; in the 
devil of a temper, too. When he gets in that white, dead calm 'makes 
me feel like Judgment Day's coming for somebody. 

Captain: Aye — I know him; and his father before him. Get on, — his or- 
der was for all speed. {Exit Joyce L. shaking his head.) 

Second Sailor : ( Tip-stage) Heaven send he's not after ordering the Pro- 
teus to sail again just as she has made harbor ! 

First Sailor: And just as you've found the vicar of iStomway casting 
sheep 's eyes at your own lady-love 1 

Second Sailor: Black sheep's eyes— curse him! I'll have my vengeance 
on David York some day, in spite of his lordship. 

First Sailor: O, we've all scores to settle with him. Hle'U come to judg- 
ment, I 'm thinking, whenever his lordship leaves Stornway again. 

Captain : Whist, lad's ! it would go ill with ye if his lordship, heard ye. 
Let David York alone; he's no worse than ye are after the women. 
The Lord designed ye for men— but the best tvv^o of ye will fight like 
dogs over a remnant of Adam's rib. {Discovers Courier; goes to him.) 
Ho! here's this good for naught! What's got into him? 

Second Sailor : {Goes to table— takes np flagon) This! 

First Sailor: {Seizes flagon — turns if up to drink— finds n^ wine) Bah! 
empty as I am ! 

Second Sailor : And his head's as full as a jib in a gale. 

First Sailor : The fool has stowed all his ballast aloft and keeled over. 

Captain: {Shaking Coimer's shoulder) Here— wake up, you derelict! 
Though it's little good towing ye in— nobody 'd pay salvage on ye. 

Courier: {Sleepily kissing Captain's hand) Ah, gentle lady ! 

Captain : {Snatching his hand away) Let be ! {-Cuffs him) Get up— and 
learn to be a man ! Ye can't be swaddled aaid pampered and dandled 
into one either by the women. Ye've got to face the wind and taste 
the brine— 



15 

Courier: (Dreamily) Women— ah, yes! The only way to forget them 
quite is — 

Captain : To marry 'em, 'faith ! 

Courier: Nay— ask me not to marry. I never indulge in games of chance. 
(Picks up guitar.) 

Captain : Ye indulge in worse things, I 'm thinking. But go on ! Ye are 
not the first fool who mistook wine and women for life preservers — 
instead of millstones that'll sink ye tO' Davy Jones. (Starts up 
stage. E niter Lord Stornway door L.— exquisitely attired in suit of 
white and gold.) 

Courier : (Rises unsteadily— hows low) My lord, I've— remained here ! 

First Sailor: (Bows, ivith Ms hands on his stomach) We are filled with 
nothing but pleasure at your lordship 's commands ! 

Second Sailor: (Bowing) Good eveningj my lord. 

Captain : (Bowing) I hope we find your lordship well. 

Stornway: (Crossing B. C.) Good evening, men. You're in good time. 
(Stops at stair.) Captain, have a boat at the Northeast pier well- 
manned and ready to sail for the m.ainland within the hour. Have 
another at the village pier, also ready to sail within that time. 

Captain : Aye, aye, my lords. 

Stornway: Place sentinels at every gate leading into the castle grounds, 
with instructions to admit no one until I give the word. 

Captain: Aye, aye, my lord. 

Stornway : (To First Sailor) You stand guard at the lower terrace. (To 
Second Sailor) You at the u.pper ferrace near the entrance to the 
castle. (To Captain and Courier) You two guard the great gates at 
the lodge. Go! Make all haste, I pray yon. (Ascends several steps — 
turns.) Report to me here at midnight for further orders. (A^scends 
to gallery; tiorns, looks at them fiercely.) Why do yon stand there 
agape, as though you'd seen a ghost? (All start, snhdhted and silent 
toward door L. C.) Zounds, men ! make not your going as it were to 
a funeral. 'Tis no dire occasion.— but the preface to a feaF^t. I'll 
have you here drinkin^ ^ny health to-morrow. Now— Jgo! (Exits- 
door opening upon gallery.) 

Captain: Come, boys! here's a queer night's work— food for your vacant 
minds. (Exits L. C.) 

First Sailor: And it's food for our vacant stomachs we need! (Exits 
L. C.) 



16 

Second Sailor: And David York free to go a-pMlandering ! {Exits L. C.) 

Courier : {Lightly touching the prelude to Light o' Love) And my lady- 
love vainly waiting ! The liqnid fire in her eyes will be clean washed 
out with tears. {Exits L. C. Outside all sing Light o' Love as they 
leave.) 

{Enter Dorothy, R. TJ., in evening gown. Hears singing.) 

Dorothy: Ah, the little love song! ^Goes to window L. TJ., opens it, leans 
out to listen. Singing dies awuy in the distance.) What black clouds 
in the West! And it is growing cold. {Closes ivindow— shivers.) A 
storm is brewing. How good to be safely housed in this stronghold- 
storms frighten me so! {Goes C.) Wfiat a haunting little ballad 
that is. {Softly essays a few measures of Light o' Love.) I wish 
I could have caught the vvords; something about love. {Sighs.) Ah, 
well ! they must be sad if they are about love. {After a pensive in- 
stant.) But I came here to try and forget ! {Passionately) Dear God ! 
what a purblind, unconquerable thing the heart is ! ( Goes toward fire, 
with effort at cheer fidness.) Well,— let me see! how to spend the 
evening alone ! George and Lord Stomway are at cards ; Mrs. Merton 
has retired with a headache. * * * I wish I had called the minstrel 
in to sing me that little ballad;! {Sings a few measures; suddenly 
stops — dispairingly . Sinks upon couch B. of fire.) Oh, it is no use — 
no use ! How can I learn to live with a broken heart ! 

{Enter David York L. C. He is about thirty years old; of slight stature, 
with pale, cleati-shaven face, restless, dark eyes and disheveled black 
hair. H^e wears long, mud-stained coat over his clergyman's garb.) 

David: {Standing at door — peering back into corridor.) Now, of a truth, 
that is strange— very strange! {Closes door; goes slowly toward 
Dorothy.) Yes, Lady Fenton, it is decidedly curious. 

Dorothy: {Coldly.) What is curious, Mr. York? 

David: Faith! that damned sailor— I beg your ladyship's pardon!— our 
life on Stornway is not conducive to a mincing nicety of speech. But 
the rascal made some difficulty over admitting me ; acted like a sen- 
tinel — with the castle in a state of siege. He ruffled me — and — and I 
don't like it ! {Looks aho^it the Hall suspiciously— then at Dorothy.) 
Where is your brother ? 

Dorothy : He and Lord Stornway are at cards, I believe. 

David: Where is Mrs. Merton— who, I hear, is playing chaperone for 
this select house party ? 

Dorothy: She retired to her apartments immediately after dinner with 
one of her usual headiaches. You visit iStornway castle somewhat late, 
Mr. York. 



"■ ": 17 '■ ' "■ 

David: (With a gesture upward toward the gallery.) Old Evans, my 
lord's valet, is dying up yonder. The whim seized him to have a 
clergyman in ; God knows why ! One knave ought to make his way 
to hell without another knave to help him. And Evans ? Eh, well ! 
from all I know of him he's damned already. (Removes his long coat, 
throws it and his hat on chair B. of table.) Gad! we are most of us 
damned on Stornway. And that is why I don't like it. (Looks about 
Hall furtively.) Lady Fenton, I don't like it ! 

Dorothy : (Indifferently.) You will pardon me — but I was never good at 
riddles. 

David: (Crossing his arms—istrokes his chin in meditation.) I will read 
you my riddle then — you are rich; as women go, you're noft as un- 
pleasant to look at as most of them — 

Dor. : (Laughing) What a finished, gracious flatterer you are, Mt. York! 

David: (Same play) Lord Stornway has had great losses of late, and 
seems to have lost his heart, as well. Last month, at Tunbridge, you 
refused to marry him. I am in his confidence, you see. He took 
your refusal quietly, and came back to Stornway. Beware of Edward 
Grey when he is quiet! Eh, I know him! These eight years I've 
studied his moods, pampered him, lied to him, cringed to him — 

Dor. : How very candid yau are ! 

David : Why not ? You must have heard how he took me out of the gutter 
— where your varied and elusive charms finally landed me ; and I 've 
been his lackey, his hanger-on, his cur, ever since. 

Dor. : ffis lordship must feel deeply touched by such lofty devotion— such 
frank and noble gratitude ! 

David : Nay, I am grateful— in a way. Rut, I know him ; and I warn you, 
Dorothy! Ten years ago, before you used me so cruelly, I would 
have gone singing to the stake for you. Now, I don't value you at 
•the worth of a penny. But for old time's sake— I warn you ! 

Dor.: If you can't be gallant, you are, at least, melodramatic and enter- 
taining ! 

Dor. : Pooh ! 'tis no time for quips, (Goes nearer to her.) You adorable, 
heartless little flirt! What madness, induced you to come to Storn- 
way? You know that his lordship loves you; you know that you 
don't intend to marry him. Then, why come ? 

Doe.: (Laughing) The melodrama thickens! For mere sake of plot, you 
might reflect that my brother is here with me and is a good swords- 
man. 



18 

David : I grant you that. But you are on Stornway. sDo you know who 
is king here on this sea-washed scrap of earth? German George 
reigns yonder in England ; but on this Island Edward Grey is king. 
And it is not precisely a convent that he rules over. 

Dob.: Oh! you are speaking in your capacity of spiritual adviser? Mrs. 
Merton, you know, is here to represent the proprieties. 

David : (Laughs) Propriety on Stoneway ! God save the mark ! Besides, 
she could be melted down for the candle trade at his lordship's 
lightest word. As I 've intimated, my worthy patron is subject to the 
frailties of the flesh. Oh, I'm candid; and if you report me to him 
I shall lie out of it. 

Dor. : You 've doubtless had practice enough to do it convincingly. 

David: {Bowing) Well inferred! But, Dorothy {goes close to her) con- 
sider the situation seriously a moment — 

Dor. : {Rises J turns aiuay) I would be glad to attribute your warning to 
a somewhat officious friendliness; but your breath compels me to 
attribute it to the vagaries of — gin ! 

David: {Shtinking away from her) Oh, I've been drinking! {Bitterly.) 
I've perservered in drinking for ten long, despairing years; yet have 
not quite succeeded in making myself a drunkard. But do you know 
what Edward Grey is? 

Dor. : Yes ! ( turns upon him angrily) I know him to be a noble gentleman I 
Believe me, if you, too, were a gentleman, you would understand. 
A gentleman is not a tale bearer; a gentleman does not defame the 
friend to whom he owes his daily bread ! 

David: {Regards her sadly) I had not thought anything you would say 
could hurt me. I find I was mistaken. * * * Perhaps I am not a 
gentleman. Faith, no! I'm only a shabby, would-be drunkard— a 
disgrace to my cloth — 

Dor.: {Coldly) I was discourteous. I beg your pardon. And now, Mr. 
York, if you will allow the suggestion, I think you had better go to 
your dying parishioner. 

David: {Unheedingly— passionately) I am a drunkard! Who made me 
so? Who lured me on with soft words and softer kisses. Yes, kisses- 
Lady Penton!— till a rich man came a-wooing— then cast me aside 
without apology or regret ? 

Dor.: {Abashed) 0, that boy and girl affair! I found that I did not 
love you. I was only a girl— you, a promising, pious youth; it was 
natural that I should have been mistaken in my feeling for you. 
Surely, you cannot blame me for your ruined life 1 



19 

David: {Catching her hand) Can you not understand, Dorothy, how a 
man says, "You will not have me, therefore, I'll go to the devil?" 
Can't you understand how, when a man's heart is broken, he finds 
some oblivion to the pain of it at the bottom of a wine glass? or 
how he remembers that there are other women whose hearts are more 
tender — and yes — whose virtue is less exigent? 

Dor. : ( Wrenching her hamd from him) Oh ! you— you should not speak 
of such things to me ! 

David : They are not for nice ears like yours ! But the fact remains that 
a man betrayed, broken-hearted, has his choice of two consolations- 
wine and women. I have tried both — 

Dor. : How dare you say this to me ! 

David : ( Turns aivay hopelessly) 0, no woman understands these things ! 
At least, you would not — because you are only a heartless jilt. 

Dor.: Insolent! 

David: Perhaps I am. It scarcely matters what a. sot like me may say. 
{Goes quickly to her— grasps her hands.) But Dorothy, I am very 
far from drunk now {Stornway appears on gallery)^ and I tell you — 
{looks upf sees Stornway descending stairs, drops her hands, steps 
hack) . 

Storn. {At foot of stairs) Why, what is this ? David, you are not making 
love to Lady Fenton, I hope. Fie, man ! You are fickle 1 

David: {Turns toward him cringingly) Your lordship is pleased to be 
pleasant ! I was admiring Lady Fenton 's ruf£ie~Valenciennes^ I take 
it— and very choice; and telling her of the many kindnesses your 
lordship so generously confers upon his unworthy -v'icar. 

Storn. : {Lays his hand indulgently upon David's shoulder.) Thank j^ou, 
David! You're not a bad fellow— so lon'^ as you are sober. Be off 
with you to Evans; he's dying, they toll me. Just ."ly luck! He 
could tie a better cravat than any jnan in the kingdom. 

David : {Reverently inclining his head) The ways of Providence are in- 
scrutible. If heaven sees fit to chasten your lordship, doubtless you 
shall be— as anciently, in the case of Job— rewarded by a recom- 
pense {looks with meaning toward Dorothy), by a thousand-fold 
recompense ! ( Asce7ids stairs. ) 

Storn. : 0, David— I forgot ; don't leave the castle without seeing me again. 
I may need you presently. 

David : {On upper stairs, hows.) I am always yours to command, my lord. 
{Exits upper door.) 



20 

Dor. ; (Sits B. of taUe) So, my lord, you and George have finished your 
game at last ! Were you ' ' a noble loser" again ? 

Storn. : {L. of table— regards her intently.) I a loser? Ah, no! I have 
just learned how to win. 

Dor. : Then pray endeavor to look a little more cheerful. You are staring 
at me like a beggar at a bakery window. 

Storn.: There is little difference between me and a hungry beggar; we 
both cannot forego longing glances at what we most desire. I could 
push the simile further, and liken your coquetry to the intervening 
window pane — not easily broken through, but very, very transparent, 
Dorothy. 

Dor. : You are not overwhelmingly polite ; but then, I 've warned you 
before that living in the country is bad for the manners. 

Storn. : I am sorry you think me a boor ; but, as I 've told you so often, it 
rests with you to make me what you will. 

Dor.: (Rises— playfully extends her hand to himi) Then, Ned, I'll make 
you my— friend ! 

Storn.: (Clasping her hand passionately) Dorothy, will you marry me? 
I ask it for the third time. 

Dor.: (Withdrawing her hand) Is it only the third time? Dear me! it 
seems like the thirtieth time ! 

Storn. : (Fiercely) H'ow you madden me ! Sometimes, I think I hate 
you. 0, Dorothy — Dorothy — (sriiites his hrea-st), give me back a 
human heart in place of this flame you have kindled here, or I shall 
go mad ! Last night I dreamed of hell — and you were there, where 
the flames leaped and curled about the poor lost souls; I, too, was 
there— and through eternity I heard you cry to God in vain, O, dear, 
wonderful woman! And I was glad— -glad— for I hated you * * * 
Even so, sometimes, when I feel that I must go mad for love of you, 
I yet hate you with a fervor that thrills every fiber of my being. 

Dor.: (Tremulous— masters herself with effort) Really, you half-suffo- 
cate me with your flames and your brimstone! You breathe con- 
flagrations like a devil in a pantomine. If you'll excuse me, my lord, 
I'll go and join my brother. 

Storn. : (Detaining her— quietly) And you let me kiss you today! 0, I 
know you struggled; but you did not struggle very hard, did you, 
Dorothy? 

Dor. : Insolent ! I— I scorn your insinuation. I wish to go to my brother. 



21 

Storn.: {Casually) 'Faith! that reminds me; I've been remiss. I bear 
you a message from George. Tonight he had a letter from Morgan, 
his agent— and mine, too, by the way,— who, it seems, has found, at 
last, a good buyer for Waring Court, if the sale be made imme- 
diately. The opportunity was too good to lose; so George left the 
Island an hour ago. 

Dor.: He— left the Island? 

Storn. : Yes. By a rare chance some of my men were just setting out from 
the village pier for the mainland. And George said he knew you 
could safely return to London in Mrs. Merton 's care. 

Dor.: (Perplexed) He should not have gone without seeing me. He 
should * * * I'll go and speak with Mrs. Merton. Good night, my 
lord. 

Storn. : (Intercepts her casually) Why, that's the unfortunate part of it 
all. The same boat brought Mrs. Merton a summons to the bedside 
of her husband, who, it appears, is very ill in London. By another 
rare chance, sorae of my men were at the Northeast pier on the point 
of sailing for the mainland ; so she and her maid embarked at once. 

Dor. : Mrs. Merton gone 1 With no word to me ? 

Storn. : Yes — you were not in the drawing-room, she said — nor in your 
apartments ; and haste was urgent, for the boat was waiting. 

Dor. : (With sudden rememhrance) Your little page so importuned me to 
go ajid see his cage of bullfinches in the West Tower that 1***0, 
she should not have gone ! 

Storn. : She was loath to go. But she said your brother was here to be- 
token propriety. And, by the oddest misfortune, I forgot to tell her 
that George had left from the village pier a half hour before. My 
memory is lamentably treacherous! As you say, living in the 
country— 

Dor.: (Suddenly turning upon him) You planned this ! 

Storn.: (Calmly) Frankly, yes! A stupid recreation;, I dare say. But 
as you justly observed, country life coarsens a man's tastes'. Assur- 
edly, my dear, you must train your husband's imagination to higher 
things when you are Lady Stornway. 

Dor.: (Unheeding) I am alone * * * alone in this place— with you! 

Storn. : The situation has its charms, I confess. 

Dor. : Alone * * * 0, you devil ! 

Storn. : Your remark is more notable for its force than its justice. But— 
you are alone upon Stornway; and upon Stornway there are many 



22 .-.---.■ 

devils. There are ten of them yonder on guard around the castle, in 
ease your brother should return inopportunely— or some rare guest 
should venture here. 

Dob. : What an outrage— what an infamous outrage ! 

Storn: I grant that the situation would outrage propriety; if Lady 
Fenton spends this night at Stornway it would be at the hazard of 
her reputation. 

Dor. : {Baffled— dismayed) No— it is impossible— 

Storn. : But Lady Stornway can spend not only this night, but all future 
nights here with the sanction of the most punctilious prude. For- 
tunately, the vicar is right up there — so no question of validity need 
ever arise. 

Dor.: {Plucking feverishly at her gown) Let me think * * * 0, I can't 
think ! I— tl am afraid ! 0, Ned ! Ned ! You cannnot do this thing ! 
I trusted you— 

Storn. : Is that all you have done, Dorothy ? 

Dob.: Ah, I know I let you make love to me. Yes— I liked having you 
make love to me. Some women are like that. But I cannont — cannot 
marry you, Ned. 

Storn.: Why? You have never told me why. 

Dor. : ( With difficulty) There is a man yonder in England — 

Storn.: {Fiercely) You love him? ^ 

Dor.: {Slowly nods assent) But * * * 

... ■ ^,_,^ 

Storn. : He shall never have you ! 

Dor.: {Humbly) He does not want me — 

Storn.: {Incredidous) Ah! how do you know? 

Dor.: Because * * * he loves my— stepdaughter ! That is very amus- 
ing, isn't it Ned? I'll soon be his mother-in-law! Why don't you 
laugh? Come— let us both laugh! first at this— and then at the jest 
you've played on me: Do you know, for a moment I thought you 
were in earnest? But George went to sleep over the cards, didn't he? 
And Mrs. Merton is in bed with headache, isn't she? Of course! 
And you thought you'd retaliate upon me for teasing you. You were 
quite right. It's a very good jest. Now— let us laugh at it. {Laughs. 
Grasps his arm.) Laugh, Ned ! 0, in God's name, laugh— laugh— or 
I shall go mad ! 



23 

Stobn. : {Regards her coldly) Matrimony is a serious thing, Dorothy. It 
is not seemly for us, who are so soon to enter it, to show such levity. 
I wonder what can be keeping David York? 

Dor.: (Starts) David York! What irony of Fate! I am here at your 

mercy— and his! The two men I * * * (With a sudden change of 

thought turns to him ivith a winsome smile.) So you do really want 

me to marry you, Ned? Well— we must see ! But, as you say, it is 

a serious thing. Do you know, you say such sensible things, Ned. 

Storn. : (Dryly) I thank you! 

Dor.: (Nodding hrightly) Yes, you do! Not at all like those silly fops 
yonder in London. (Modestly.) I dare say, we'll be very happy 
together. But you wouldn't respect me if I married you suddenly like 
this, would you ? So' you '11 let me think it over for a month * * * 
is that too long? Well, I think it is myself. Say, a week then. I 
must have my v/edding finery, you know. Women are such vain 
creatures— not big and brave and sensible, like you men ! (Takes his 
hand.) See how much larger your hand is than mine — mine is quite 
lost in it, isn't it? So, since I'm such a vain little thing, you'll let 
me go over to London for some clothes, won't you? And we'll be 
married in a week ! But you '11 let me go first — away from this dread- 
ful place— away. * * * o, I didn't mean that! It is only for clothes 
— I swear it is only for clothes ! I'll come back to you, Ned ! (Fon- 
dles his hand.) Why, of course, I'll come back! But you must give 
me time, Ned, dear,— you must— you must, I tell you! (Drops his 
hand; sohs) : 0, God ! its no use ! 

Storn.: (Half sadly) No— its no use. You are not Delilah, nor I a 
Samson to be undone by your wiles. I would ha,ve preferred that 
you came to me willingly; but since you won't, I must needs marry 
you and win you afterward. (Goes to stair— calls) : David! David 
York! (David appears on gallery.) When Charon is sped— come! 
Hymen has need of you. 

David: I am coming, my lord'. (Descends stairs slowly— pauses hefore 
Stornway with a servile how.) 

'Storn.: David, Lady Fenton is about to make me the happiest of men. 
Have you a prayer book with you ? 

David : Assuredly, my lord— as befits a man of my holy calling. 

Storn. : Then there need be no delay. We wish to be married at once. 

David: (Smiles— chafes his hands uneasihf) The match i^ somewhat of 
the suddenest, my lord. But I've known these imDromptu marriages 
to turn out very happily— very hapily, indeed, t suppose her lady- 
ship 's brother will grace the occasion with his presence 1 



24 

Storn. : {QuicJcly] No— iinfortunately, Mr. Waring was called away to 
London tonight. 

David : Ah ? Perhaps then your other guest, Mrs. Merton— 

Storn. : (Impatiently) iShe has, unfortunately, been called to London 
also. 

{The two men look at each other; Stornway, insolently; D'avid, with a fur- 
tive contempt soon mashed with the smile of the lackey, as he searches 
his pockets and produces his prayer hook.) 

Dor. : (Springs toward David, catches his hand in a frenzy of helpless^ 
ness.) Ah, no, David! help me— help me! Don't you see how it is? 
He has turned into a devil ! But you are not base, David— you are 
a man ! 0, God ! if I only were a man I would * * * ( Turns upon 
Stornway, shaking with impotent fury ; goes cowering hack to David.) 
But I'm just a woman — land you used to love me, David. You can- 
not have forgotten how you used to love me ! 

David : No— I haven 't forgotten ! Your plea is a strange one. Lady Fenton. 
As I understand it, you appeal to me to meddle in your affairs upon 
the ground that you once made a fool of me. 

Dob.: No— no, David! don't you remember how happy we were? Don't 
you remember how the nightingales used to sing moonlit evenings 
when we sat in the rose arbor, planning, 0, so many happy things! 
Don't you remember the cottage we planned, David? How we quar- 
reled because I wanted to have rose vines all over it? You said it 
would make the room too dark. * * * You said * * * Q, David, 
don 't you remember ? 



J 



David: I remember very clearly. It shames even an old sot like me to 
think I w^as ever so utterly at the mercy of such a heartless jilt. 
Remember? God! I remember every vow you ever made to me — 
every glance — every caress — every kiss! They were all lies, Doro- 
thy—all lies ! 

Dor. : (Falls upon her knees hefore him— grasps his hand) 0, David- 
David ! if I had only gone to live with you in that little cottage we 
never built. 

David : Your regrets are belated. I must ask you to- rise, your attitude is 
unbecoming in one so soon to be Ladj iStomway. 

Dor. : (Rises wearily) Has neither one of you ever heard of manhood— 
though but as distantly as one hears summer thunder? Had neither 
one of you a woman for your mother — a woman as I am — 

Storn.: These rhetorical passages are not pertinent. (Dorothy shrinks 
hack towa/rd couch B. Stornway goes to her; David goes B. G.) So, 



25 '."'''' " 

my dear, David is another one of your victims ! That adds quite a 
touch of romance to the situation. {Takes her hand — faces David.) 
But come, parson David— dispatch ! Your lady's for your betters 
now. 

David: (With a quick, maglignant look, opens his prayer hook, initoTiies^ 
solemnly) ''Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of 
God"- 

Dob. : (Stretching her hands toward him) I am helpless, David— utterly 

helpless ! 

David : "To join together this man and this woman ' '— 

Dor.: You can not do it, David! Remember— not me— not the folly of 
my girlhood — not the man I have made you — ah, no ! Remember only 
the man you have been, David York ! 

David: (Stunnedy catches his hreath sharply) What? 

Dor. : Ah, thank God ! You do remember ! 

David: (Mechanically) The man— I have been ? Ah, yes * * * the man 
I have been. 

Storn. : (Wearily) Upon my word, this getting married is a tedious 
business ! Proceed — proceed, David York ! 

David: (Quietly lays prayer book on table) I cannot do it— the woman 
is right. 

(Dorothy staggers back— falls upon couch.) 

Storn.: (Heedless of Dorothy— incredidous) I beg your pardon? 

David: (Goes quickly to Dorothy— arranges pillow under her head- 
throws a light drapery on the couch over her with grudging tender- 
ness; steps back— faces Stornway calmly) The woman is right, my 
lord. There is such a thing as manhood— though you nor I can boast 
it. I might have done so once— before that woman came into my 
life. Then— ^God pity me!— I forgot that I was His servant— and 
set out to go to the devil. (Fiercely.) But I went farther than 
that— for I went to you, Edward Grey— 

Storn. : (Tolerantly) I have had to warn you before this, David, that you 
must not take too much gin when I am apt to need you. 

David : 0, I am, indeed, beholden to you two; to her for making me a sot — 
to you for making me a lackey! (Crosses B. to couch; Stornway R. 
C.) But I will save her from you — not for her sake — God, no! — 
but for the sake of the man I have been ! I owe that man reparation ; 
I have ruined his body, dulled his mind, made his fair name a foul 
thing— but as God reigns, I'll avenge that man tonight! 



36 

Storn. : I begin to fear that heroics are contagious ; possibly I, too, shall 
begin to rant in a moment. David, you are pitifully drunk. You 
defy mef Why, you are my chattel — bought and paid for! You 
defy me. (Laughs genially.) Ah, wine is a mocker, David ! Come! 
"We'll have no^ more of this. {Thrusts prayer hook in his hand.) Let 
us get it over. 

David: (Tosses hook aside— half turns from him) I will nob do it! 
(Turns to find Stornway's sword pointing at his heart.) 0, you 
wouldn 't kill an unarmed man, my lord ! 

Storn. : I trust I shall not have to. But a ceremony we must have, other- 
wise—man, man! don't be a fool! Think of my fellows yonder— any 
one of them would be glad to run you through at a word from me. 

David : (Quietly — picks up prayer hook) It's no use ! A poor knave can- 
not afford the luxury of honesty ; and even vermin have an aversion 
to death. (Bows.) I return to my obedience, my lord. Perhaps it 
was the gin * * * perhaps * * * But now I'm at your service. 
Though, if you '11 pardon me, I warn you that you are showing scant 
forethought; Lady F'enton's brother may get news of this by dawn— 
so many of your people visit the mainland at night and, in their cups, 
will blab. You should have set sentinels. 

Storn : I have done so. Still there is something in what you say. ( Cross- 
ing to table — strikes hell.) We will make our plans a little safer. 
(Enter Joyce L. C.) 

Joyce: My lord? 

Storn. : Joyce, have any boats left the Island since I gave my last orders? 

Joyce: No, my lord — the storm arose. 

Storn. : See that none do. Also see that no person leaves or enters the 
castle grounds tonight. 

Joyce : Yes, my lord. 

David: Pardon me, my lord — but I have a rendezvous on the mainland 
tonight ; you would not have me break faith with a lady, would you ? 

Storn.: You are a wanton rascal, David. (Reflects an instant.) There's 
no danger of your going to George Wearing after performing this 
ceremony; you value your trifling life too dearly for that! (To 
Joyce) : You will pass Mr. York, Joyce; no one else— understand— 
no one else ! 

Joyce: Yes, my lord. 

David: (With a gesture toward the couch) Better warn Joyce there may 
be some disturbance soon ; a lamentation or so. 



27 

Storn. : {Claps hmi on shoulder) That's the old David— always alert! 
Joyce, let no one enter this Hall except the sentinels, who are td 
report to me at midnight. Now, go! {Exit Joyce.} 

{David stands before fire turning over leaves of prayer hook. 
Stormvay goes to couch, takes Dorothy's hand.) Come, my dear. 
'Faith, has she really swooned? {Bends over her. David slips hook 
in his pocket; stealthily springs upon chair L. of fire; takes sword\ 
from the wall; wrests it from scahhard; leaps down with it drawn. 
Stornway turns.) Why, David— what the devil— 

David : Tricked ! tricked ! You were always a fool, Edward Grey ! 

Storn.: {Dazed) What do you mean? 

David: That you're a fool! I did not know the castle was guarded— you 
told me ! I needed privacy ; you insured it to me ! I needed a sword 
you had it here to my hand ! 0, beyond doubt, you're a fool ! 

Storn.: {Drawing sword) Gad! You've tricked me neatly! I've even 
given them orders to pass you after you've murdered me! You're 
clever, David; but one thing you've overlooked; I shall kill you 
presently— the paltriest knave unhanged in England! 

Davie : {Laughs) No matter— if you do not, your sentinels will ! But for 
all that, I mean to kill you— for her sake there— and for the sake of 
the man I have been. Then, I shall give my life for hers. Ah, I am 
doomed, too, my lo r d ! Guard ! ( They fight; David clummly, hut 
doggedly and calmly. Stornway thrusts through his guard and 
wounds him in the arm, hut he fights on unheedingly; and step hy 
steps forces Stornway hack toward the altar where the candles are 
still hurning ; and at last his sword strikes home.) 

Storn. : {Drops his sword— staggers backward) Oh, David— I am afraid 
* * * help me David! {Falls dead before the altar.) 

David: {Bending over him) Too late * * * {Arises, looks sadly upon 
him.) But he may find God— somewhere! {Drops curtain over 
altar; wipes his sword mechanically on curtain's edge.) 

Dor.: {Awakens from her swoom; half rises — looks about hall vaguely) 
David, are you here ? 

David : Yes— I am still here. 

Dor.: {In fear) Has he gone? 

David : Aye— he has gone ! 

Dor. : Oh ! where ? 

David : No man knoweth. 

Dor.: I— I don't understand— 



28 . 

David: {Going slowly toward her) No! Neither do I * * * He is 
dead, Dorothy. 

Dor.: (Shudders.) Dead! Oh, thank God! 

David: (Sadly) God had nothing to do with it * * * Thank me. 

Dor.: (Slirhiking from him) You, David York? 

David: (Impetuously) Never mind that now! Get up— listen! Can 
you keep your head ? 

Dor. : (Staggers to her feet; dully.) "Wihat is it ? I am very tired, David 1 

David: (Takes her hand) No— you have not time to be tired. Listen: 
You are upon Stornway— amongst men who differ from beasts by 
being a thought more cruel. The sooner you get away, the better. 
Joyce has orders to pass no one but me. Very well— put on this cloak ! 
(Catches up his cloak, puts it around her) Now— turn up the collar, 
so! You may thank your stars that it's a stormy night— and that I 
am a little man. You detest little men, don't you? Yes — I remem- 
ber! * * * Now, listen! When I open that door (points to door 
L.C.)j go out along that corridor; there's only one light— on the left; 
keep to the right in the shadow. Pay no attention to the sentinels. 
Walk unsteadily ; if you can manage a hiccough, the personation will 
be more life-like. The sentinels will expect something of the sort 
and will not trouble you — they know that I am quarrelsome when I'm 
drunk. (Looks ahout for his hat) This is a diverting world, 
Dorothy. (Takes up hat — ttnes to put in shape.) You perceive 
that even drunkenness and a bad temper may have their uses! (Be- 
gins to place his hat on her head.) 

Dor. : (Arrests his hand) But I do not understand— 

David: (Hopelessly) You understand very little except coquetry and 
the latest fashions! This is very simple— my horse is tied at the 
postern ; mount him— cross-saddle, mind you ! You know the way to 
the vicarage— so does the horse ; you will find my faithful old serving 
man there. Tell him to row you to the mainland and take you on to 
London. Do you understand ? 

Dor. : (Flings off cloak— sinks upon chair E. C.) Yes — il understand! I 
am to steal away in the darkness and leave you here alone to answer 
for Lord Stornway 's death— to those devils out there ! Do you think 
I would do that ? 

David: (Catching his breath— falls on his knees beside her) You would 
stay with me, Dorothy ? 

Dor. : I will not purchase my life at the price of yours. I will owe you 
nothing, David York ! 



29 

David: (Looks in her face sadly) Do you know, Dorothy, if destiny had 
given us the chance, I think that I might have been a man —and you, 
a woman! (Rises— reflects.) Yes, you would stay! Knowing, too, 
what it signifies. I know it is just your damnable pride! but its 
brave, at any rate However, you need not stay. The men of Storn- 
way will not harm me. 

Dor.: (Incredulous) They will not harm you? 

David: (Turns away) Nay, they will hail me as their deliverer. That 
man was their tyrant-^ they obeyed him, yes! but only through fear. 
But if they found a woman here— a beautiful woman! * * * o, 
it's impossible ! I tell you, Dorothy, I will come to no harm. (Smiles 
alt her reassuringly.) 

Dor. : (Rises — looks searchingly in his face) Will you swear it, David? 

David : (S'tUl Smiling) Yes — I swear to you that only peace awaits me. 

Dor.: Then I will go! 'So * * * goodby, David.! I shall never see 
you again; (he hows his head.) But 0, David — I almost wish that 
we had gone to live in that little cottage we planned and quarreled 
over, and never built. I believe we would have been happy. 

David: (Seizes her hand, kisses it) Yes— Ve would have been happy! 

* * * But now — you must hasten, Dorothy. (Adjusts cloak 
about her,) and so— goodby ! (Leads her to door.) 

Dor. : "Why have you done this thing,, David ? 

David: (W\ith a gesture of despair) I love you * * * 1 have loved 
you all my life ! 

Dor. : I am sorry ! I am not worthy of your love. 

David: No— you are not worthy of it. Neither am I * * * But I love 
you. (Opens door — stands with towed head, as she slowly passes 
out; and so — until he hears her horse's hoof -heats pass on into silence. 
Then he closes the door— goes slowly to R. C, lifts his head proudly.) 
A brave woman, that! * * * 0, a trifling, shallow-hearted jilt- 
but a brave woman ! She would have stayed, if I had not lied to her ! 

* * * W!hy, he was their god, that man! * * * Keaven 
knows, I loved him, too ! He was the only friend I ever had * * * 
So, when they come at midnight they will kill me * * * God! the 
man I might have been ! ( Goes R.) And now— to put her out of my 
mind! After all these years to put her quite out of my mind! 
(Clock softly chimes the hour of midnight — while he picks up prayer 
hook, goes to altar; throws hack curtain.) Perhaps I will have time 
to say a bit of prayer for Edward Grey. (Kneels. The voices of 
the courier and sailors are heard far in the distance singing ^^ Light o' 
Love;'* they sound nearer and nearer.) 

CURTAIN. 



I^UU 



t^p-^-'tJL^ 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIDNS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 988 539 2 ^ 



^-i' ^1^.^ 



■-'V-^^*--^ 




/■*,.. .. 



-Sr- 



!.\ , .< 



